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The Z Island - Luke Shephard

When the Undead have taken over America, one group of survivors find safety by escaping to a remote, unsettled island.

There they work to rebuild society, while trying to survive whatever it is that is after them.

Alone and isolated, their relative peace and safety is shattered when a group of Others shows up on their island and their leaders must make life-altering choices in the blink of an eye.

This is only the beginning. This is their story.

~Episode One~

Albion Camp- America - 2032

If Owen had learned anything in all his years of running, hiding, and escaping the clutches of the beings that so terrified the colonists, it was that a good story could take one’s mind away from the horrors of the world.

Curling up with one of the Stephen King books he had shoved so hastily into his beat-up leather suitcase over thirty years ago when the storm hit, was one of the few sanctuaries that Owen still felt he had left. ‘Thank God I had enough sense to grab those, at least’, he often thought to himself while reading those tattered books.

Flipping through the yellowing pages, however, was somewhat of a moot point. When you’ve read a book as many times as Owen had read The Stand, you knew it well enough to whisper the words as you read along. The book was more of a logical thing to hold while you went through the story in your mind like a picture that used to play in those things they called ‘movie theaters’.

It often bothered Owen that his children would not know the beauty that was a big city in America before the Zero-Hour hit, or interesting places like libraries and movie theaters. No, his offspring would only ever know this island, this beach, this unnamed and constant fear. Just as the characters in his precious book forgot about the way the world was before everything went black.

Before everything went wrong.

The crying of the baby interrupted Owen’s wandering thoughts. That shrieking sound from the babe often occurred when its mother was far away and feeding time came around. A near twenty-month old child ought to be finding its way into eating real foods, rather than simply the breast milk of its mother, Owen often thought. Isaac, however, did not have this option, as there was nothing found on the island or the surrounding beaches that was suitable for a child at such a young age.

Owen stood up from his shady place on the beach, swiping the sand off of his makeshift shorts, held together with duct tape. He knew the time would soon come when he would need to send his Warriors off into the real world again, to find supplies and food. Much as they tried to salvage what was on the island, it was nearly impossible to repair tents and cabins without proper tools and materials. Especially after the wear and tear of nearly twenty years was wrested upon the island, which only stood three miles in circumference.

And the colonists could hardly live on coconuts and fish forever. Well, they may be able to, but it wasn’t much of an existence.

Owen inspected his cabin before entering to sooth the child. His logical mind was always alert, prepared to fix a leak or mend a hole, never leaving the opportunity for a storm or winds to damage his home and make him painfully aware of the things he should have already spotted.

The cabin was small, but neat. Two hundred square feet was a modest cabin for the five inhabitants. A large door stood with no knob, but a sturdy lock lay within. Though only one room, the cabin had a good sized beach-view window that was covered up with a fit piece of wood during the heavy rains. Hannah, however, had been pestering him to bar it up for good. ‘How easy would it be for someone to push it through?’ she had often asked. Owen knew she was right.

The cabin stood fifteen feet away from the shoreline, far enough so the tide, even at its highest, would not flood it. Still, the cabin was close enough to the water, just in case a quick escape, God forbid, would ever be needed.

When Owen entered the wooden house, the first thought that entered his mind was not a concern for the baby, but for the stability of his relationship with his eldest son. He caught him doing something he should not have been doing.

Seeing your oldest boy carving pictures into the walls of the only place you could call home wasn’t a welcome sight. As Michael finished what looked to be a squiggle that was representative of a strand of hair on his depiction of a young woman, perhaps in her teenage years, Owen’s heart squirmed. His first instinct was to yell and shake his fist, throw a tantrum, and maybe force the boy to fix his mess and sleep on the sand outside for a week. Yes, that would teach him.

But, instead, as his wife would have asked of him, Owen calmed himself in the moments before Michael turned to the sound of the opening door and stopped sculpting his artwork in a state of shock.

...Dad...Dad, I...I was just...

Who is she?

...ex-excuse me?

Michael’s voice broke on this word, as he tried to regain the will to fight. But the words would not come. He had no answers to give his father, for even he did not know who the woman was.

Who is that girl?

She’s...she’s...no one.

Owen sighed deeply, stepped into the cabin, and shut the door gently behind him. He walked silently over to the baby, as Michael lowered his knife in an awkward sign of defeat. Owen lifted the child from its cradle made from tree limbs and a strip of fabric and rocked it in his mighty arms. Within moments, the infant was comfortably asleep. Pain struck his heart as he was bitterly reminded of another child that used to lie in his arms this way.

Dad, I...

Sit down, son.

But, Dad...

Sit down before I get angry, son.

Michael knew the tone of voice his father was using well. It meant he was about to get a beating he wouldn’t soon forget.

Even though Michael was nearing eighteen years old, he had always been the lone child who was not understood. The black sheep. You would think, what with Michael having been on the trip when the migration of colonists reached the island, he would be closer to his parents than his siblings were. But his slight memories of the real world were a taboo subject, and he found that he had among him no allies who were interested in the workings of that distant place. All the rest on the island were either adults who knew to keep their mouths shut, or younger children who were born here. They were content to forget the past or to not know about America completely.

They were ready to move on.

And so Michael, being the curious boy that he was, continued to attempt to find other ways of expressing his love for that world. This picture, this...sculpture, that he was sure to be clubbed upside the head for, this was simply another attempt at grasping those memories like the reins of a horse on a buggy, and pulling them back so he could never forget. He did not want to forget.

But, being as scared of disappointing his father as he was of forgetting, Michael sat on the wooden bench in front of Owen obediently.

Owen continued to pace the room with Isaac sleeping soundly as he lectured.

What were you thinking?

She’s been on my mind for weeks.

Who is she?

Just...someone I made up.

He was lying, and Owen knew it. But he knew as well as Michael that this ‘figment of his imagination’ was not something he could pinpoint. A faint memory struck Owen’s mind. The memory of a little red-haired girl, maybe four years old, running off into the woods...beyond their reach...

And then the memory was gone. And Owen forgot.

...Dad?

Snapping back to reality, Owen realized punishment should be given where punishment was due.

You’re almost eighteen years old, Michael.

I know, Dad.

Do you?

...my birthday is next week...

Yes, it is.

Owen hadn’t always been this way. Blunt. To the point. Hard. But the years of leading the island, the long toil of pulling a colony together, had not been easy on him. Someone had to take charge and be cold...and it was to Owen that this job was so graciously offered.

...Dad, I’m going to be an adult.

You sure don’t act like it.

I’m sorry about the wall. Let me fix it, okay?

I don’t want you to fix it.

...then what do you want me to do?

I want you to get your things and get out. It’s time now for you to build your own home, make your own family.

At this, Michael began to get angry. Sure, it was time to move out. He’d been ready for months, years even. But his mother would not hear it. He had even begun mapping out a great area for his cabin...somewhere as far away from this one as he could possibly get. But how could his father have known that? He never listened anyway.

And the one thing his father would never understand was that Michael would never have a family. Not ever. There was no one his age on this island. Not even close, really. With a population of a whopping thirty-two people, who was there for him to love? He had counted many times. Fourteen men, ten of them partnered off to the only ten women on the island, and eight kids.

His family took up a large fraction of the island on its own. Not including them, there were only five children on the island, and only three of them girls. That left Michael and four other men to scavenge between his uptight 14-year old sister Helen, an 8-year old named Amber, a 14-year old that they all called Eliza, and an infant Mary. Amber was betrothed to a young boy named Shane, someone close to her age, and the infant was already partnered with Isaac, not that Michael was at all interested. And, since the punishment of stealing another man’s wife was a brutal public beating on the island, Michael’s options were slightly limited.

And even if he was interested in a 14-year old named Eliza, which he wasn’t, he would have four grown men to fight for her. Four grown men who had been hoping for a partner for a much longer period of time than he had. Though his father refused to admit it, when it came to women, Michael knew the island was running very close to a series of open relationships. Six of the partnered women on the island were pregnant. And Michael hoped the children would grow quickly, if there was any hope for the colony’s survival.

Being born into the first generation of the repopulation of Earth was a very lonely lifestyle.

What family, Dad? You act like there’s a pool of women just waiting for me out there.

What about Caleb’s girl? What’s her name...uh...

Eliza.

Yeah, what about her?

Dad, I don’t want her. She’s five years younger than me. She doesn’t even know what mating means...

Son, I...

And that’s the other thing about this island, Dad. Was it normal for girls as young as she is to be courted by men nearing their thirtieth year? You know, before everything happened?

––––––––

He had spoken the magic words. And he instantly regretted it.

Michael, I have done my very best to give you everything you need to grow up and make something of yourself. If you don’t think this island is enough for you, you can leave. No one is stopping you! But when you come back to tell me that there’s nothing but desolation out there, don’t say no one warned you.

"But what if there is something out there, Dad? You haven’t traveled off of the island for fifteen years! What if there are civilizations...what if there are people?"

Owen’s face fell as he heard his son speak the very words he feared the most.

Why do you insist on believing in these fairy tales? Owen countered fiercely. Do you think that, just because you’ve been off this island, you know more than the other children? Than me?

"There has to be something more than this island, Dad! More than sending five men off into the world every couple of months to bring us supplies from desolate towns, avoiding those...those monsters...all the time. There has to be. We can’t be the only ones."

Why can’t you be more like Helen, huh? Why can’t you just trust me when I tell you that you’re wrong?

At this, a small voice spoke up from the doorway of the cabin.

What about me?

Helen walked slowly into the room before her, looking at her brother pitifully, noticing the carving on the wall and knowing he was in trouble. She immediately regretted her entrance.

It was Owen who finally spoke through the silence.

...Nothing, dear. Why are you coming to the cabin so early? It’s hot. You should be cooling off in the water and shade.

Helen stepped forward, her long blonde hair windswept. Even Michael had to admit she was beautiful, in a haunting way. But no girl had ever been more stubborn. And no girl had ever been more strict on those around her.

Why did you do it, Michael? she asked.

Ignoring her father’s words, Helen stepped forward to inspect the carving on the wall.

Why would you do this? She repeated. Who is this?

I don’t know who she is, Helen, Michael responded through gritted teeth. Now why don’t you run along and go swim with your admirers?

Helen was taken aback. Generally speaking, her brother didn’t take out his anger on her. And he knew well that she was terrified at the thought of choosing a suitor. Crazy-Phillip, as everyone called him behind his back, was well out of her comfort zone; though he had been pursuing her for weeks. Balding Eric was much too old for her, and even her father had to admit it.

Aaron was her only friend and companion. He was both young and handsome. They had often talked of living together, pretending to join in a relationship for the sake of ease. But Helen disapproved of the secrecy. She liked the company of Aaron very much, but that was because only she knew he had a preference for a different kind of person than she could ever be.

This left only James. And while he was straight, fairly good looking, and an honest, hardworking man, Helen could not bring herself to trust him. If anyone in the colony were to be caught sleeping around with the wives of the other men, it would be him, she thought. He carried an air of falseness. And Helen had a very hard time believing in his words of affection.

The truth be told, if Helen had to live with a straight, single man on the island, she would choose her ignorant brother over anyone else. Michael, underneath his stupidity, was kind and understanding, and had the best intentions in mind. It would keep the both of them from ever having to be in a relationship anyway, and the want for that expectation to go away was the only thing the two of them had in common. Neither quite held the much-needed desire to start a family any time soon, if ever.

I want to know who this girl is. Helen said finally, in complete and utter demand over her brother’s accusatory tone. Who is she?

If the boy says he doesn’t know, he does not know, Another voice chimed in from the doorway, a more firm one. And you would do well to let him alone about it.

Yes, Mother. Helen responded obediently, before sweeping out of the cabin, avoiding her mother’s gaze. She did not return until well after nightfall. The moment she escaped the cabin, she ran to Aaron and talked with him in earnest about the picture, for she felt some wave of newness, something strange, was going on within her family.

Back in the cabin, the mother of Owen’s children walked forward and took the silent baby from her husband’s arms.

Michael, it’s far past time that you made a place of your own.

When Hannah said something was to be done, she said it with an air of finality. Michael stood from the bench and left the room, knowing that as soon as the sun rose the next day, he would be expected to be hard at work, building a new cabin for himself. He fled to get away from his father, and a head start on his project.

Owen turned to look at his once-teenager sweetheart. The years had worn her down. She seemed to be fading, and yet her personality still hung true. The colony loved her, adored her, and aspired to be like her. She was strict, but had the skills of leadership that Owen could only dream of. And yet, she continued to allow him to take his place as the Alpha male, at least in the eyes of everyone else on the island.

As Isaac drank his mother’s milk that night, Owen sat once more on his place in the sand. The memory of the red-haired girl had stirred something within him. Some faded glimpse of years long past.

The faded years that he knew he would do well to forget.

*****

Albion Camp- America - 2018

Judith Marie lie whining in Hannah’s arms as the group gathered around the fire. The beans and sausages had been cooked, eaten, and the leftovers devoured by the dogs. Michael was throwing a tennis ball to his family pet with his small arms, and it crossed Owen’s mind that Michael would never know the sport to which this ball belonged.

The German Sheppard puppy had been more of a precaution than a family pet, though Owen never planned to tell Michael this. The zombies feared the sharp, gnawing teeth of the animals, and so they avoided the camp. At least, while the dogs were awake. At night, the travelers could hear them beating at the tall wire fence, trying to get in.

But there lay a quiet peace around the fire now. The sunset faded into darkness. There was a silence sifting through the air, but the families were comfortable. Michael and Judith were the only babies. The rest of the recruits were well into their preteen or teenage years, if not adults already. They knew what would come to pass. One day they would have to leave here. But not now. Not so soon after Hannah had given birth to the twins.

No. For now, they would wait.

The fire was put out, the camp dispersed, and everyone went inside the abandoned school to find their designated rooms. Only Owen’s family remained. He sat close to Hannah, each with a child in their arms.

I can’t get Judith comfortable, Hannah said softly. Will you hold her?

Owen set Michael in his mother’s arms and proceeded to take the smaller of the two newborns into his own. He rocked the sniffling child until she fell into a deep slumber, far away from the worries of the world. The moment was tender, silent. They seemed to almost be grieving.

Owen...do you think it’s time?

––––––––

What do you mean, sweetheart? Owen looked at his wife longingly. He had hoped childbirth would help her to push the repulsive memories out of her mind. Hannah, please. It’s time to let go.

...you’re right. Of course you’re right.

Owen smiled at his beautiful wife and pulled her close to his side.

I love you, Hannah.

I love you too, Owen.

They sat like that for several minutes; each in their own state of peace and serenity. Each taking refuge in the silence before the storm; the eye of the hurricane. It seemed to them that the other knew one day, maybe tomorrow or maybe three years from then, but one day, a storm would come. And this time, they would not be able to escape it. But that moment, and only in that moment, did everything feel okay. Safe.

Take the children to bed, dear. I’m going to do the perimeter check.

Do you have to do that tonight?

They both knew in their hearts that he did.

I’ll be in soon, Owen assured her. I promise.

It was one of the few promises to Hannah that Owen had ever broken. And tonight he did not do it out of personal want.

Tonight it was necessary.

Tonight he discovered the Lost Colony.

Once Hannah and the babes were inside and darkness had fallen for the night, Owen lit a lantern from the dying fire and carried it with him. Sometimes, at night, he would hear the world’s horrors. Decaying bodies, seemingly alive, would throw themselves at the gates with a force entirely inhuman. The first time this had happened, Owen had awoken the entire group, and had told them, albeit unwillingly, that they would have to move the next day, pregnant wife or not.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when none of the wall had been punctured, that he realized the silver steel was too much for the zombies to destroy. They could not seem to break it.

It was like living in a metal cage. The zombies would go about their own business during the day, but at night, they would surround the camp. Hundreds of them. Just waiting. Waiting for someone to slip up.

Owen knew it was only a matter of time before the bloody, dim-witted creatures discovered a way to break in and terrorize those within the confines of the school.

But not tonight.

As Owen circled, he was surprised by the complete lack of movement or signs of the dead anywhere. Nothing flew at the gate, nothing was thrown at him. He felt all too safe. Something could not be right. He almost felt safer when he could hear them. When he knew where they were, he could protect himself against them. But when they were seemingly invisible...how did he stand a chance?

Questions circled in his mind. Had they moved on? Had the dead finally given up on the remaining living? As Michael would tell his father sixteen years later, Owen made the fatal mistake of assuming they were the only ones left alive. Tonight he would be proven wrong.

Owen walked the two mile radius of the fence. The candles still flickered on in the distance, so he knew Hannah was waiting up for him as patiently as she could. The children would need to sleep soon, so he could not take much longer. He sped up.

And that’s when he saw the gaping hole in the fence, and the bloody thing trying to crawl through it.

Owen didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. He snatched his gun out of his back pocket and fired three shots. With each shot the thing let out a surprisingly human-like moan. And then, after several moments of pure shock, the thing fell to the ground, unmoving.

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds for Owen to gain the courage to step forward and shine the light in the thing’s face to be certain it was dead. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, for he had a feeling he would not see what he expected.

His intuition was right. The virus had not affected the body. This thing...was a man. A perfectly healthy and safe man. Not one of them.

Horrified at his mistake, Owen retreated backward into the darkness, putting out the light on his lantern. What if the man, the thing, had a companion? What if anyone had seen him?

The hole in the gate now seemed a minor problem.

Owen heard footsteps in the grass beyond, and he knew he had been right. There was someone approaching the dead body. Maybe a whole group of people. A light came into fruition in the distance, another lantern like his own. It seemed to fly to the body and was set down on the ground next to it.

...is he? A woman’s voice whispered.

He’s dead. A man, Owen imagined him kneeling next to the body, said with a tone of finality.

The woman began to sob. A man’s voice consoled her.

It was bound to happen, Amy, dear, It said. We all know he wasn’t well. He was already badly wounded...might have become infected any day now...

I know... She said, tears filling her voice. But he was going to be a father.

At these words, her strength left her and Owen knew she had fallen into the man’s arms by the heaving male breathing and the increase of her crying.

Owen had killed a man. A father, as he had learned. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say something witty, something to smooth the situation over. But he could think of nothing.

Come on, Another man said, probably the leader. I know things are hard and we’ve lost many over the last few days, but we need shelter. The dead will soon be out to feed and we still don’t have a place to sleep. That building out there may be our only hope.

We can’t stay here, Another voice added in the blackness. We aren’t welcome.

There’s nowhere else for us to go. The leader argued.

It was in this critical moment that Owen realized he had to act. He had killed one of their men by mistake, but the group sounded large. The leader spoke loudly enough for fifty to hear, and many different voices had come from the clearing beyond the fence. If they penetrated the opening, they may take over the school. They may throw out his wife...his children...because of his mistake...

He knew there was nothing else for it but to scare them off. Let the zombies take them. But they would not take his travelers and his children. They could not have them.

In years to come, Owen would often wonder why he had not invited them in warmly. Why he had not tried to dashingly become their hero and ask them to join his pack. They would have grown more quickly, and less may have died along the way. And yet, Owen could never forgive himself for killing that man. And he knew in letting the group in the camp, he would be surrendering to that guilt.

The truth was, Owen was not and never would be a hero. He did not act courageously, he acted honestly. And he knew the time had come to do something to protect his family, and that was brave enough for him.

Owen raised his gun yet again and did a horrible thing in that moment that he regretted for the rest of his life. He aimed for the shadow nearest to the lantern and he shot through the hole in the fence. He did not know if he was attempting to murder a man, a woman, or even a child, but he did not care. All he cared for was to see the shadows run far away. He wanted them to go.

There were screams and yells when the bullet passed through the chest of the leader himself. Owen would never know it, but the man, Jonathan Franklin, had been a great man, looking out for his own wife and child. But Owen conquered him with one shot, and he fell to the ground in an immediate defeat.

A moment of silence passed through, underneath all of the yells and the cries of anguish. But, finally, a woman did the first right thing any of them had done. She ran. And, as sheep do, the rest of them followed in a heavy stampede.

Owen remained in an empty clearing with two dead bodies, a lit lantern, and an open wall. He knew if the people were smart, they would not return to this school, this camp. But the fear remained within him that, if they did, and they were to talk to anyone else within Owen’s group, they would learn the truth. All of them. And Owen would be the one cast out to the zombies.